


in the car, I just can't wait

by HalfFizzbin



Series: First Date [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, car makeouts, werewolf kink?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfFizzbin/pseuds/HalfFizzbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles… are we <i>parking?</i>” Derek says, and Stiles swears he actually sounds scandalized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the car, I just can't wait

**Author's Note:**

> Continues directly from "please don't look at me with those eyes." Merry Christmas!!

“You really don’t have to take me home,” Derek says as Stiles drives into the preserve. “I need a run, anyway. You just should get yourself home; I promised your dad—”

“It’s just barely past ten.” Stiles flips on the high beams and scans the road ahead, looking for the hidden turnoff he found last year when he needed a discreet place to pull a wolfsbane-laced bullet out of Scott’s shoulder. “My dad said eleven, didn’t he? Besides, you don’t _need_ to run. You’re a werewolf. Don’t you just naturally have, like, crazy strength and stamina?”

Stiles feels his face go a little warm when he says _stamina;_ he wants to believe that Derek hasn’t heard or smelled how insanely worked up Stiles has been for the past three hours, but he knows it’s not a very realistic hope.

“I like the exercise,” says Derek, and Stiles rolls his eyes because _of course Derek does._ “Wait—why are you pulling over?”

“Well, if you want some exercise,” Stiles says, aiming for cool and suggestive but probably landing somewhere closer to _oh my god please put your mouth back on me this instant._

“Stiles… are we _parking_?” Derek says, and Stiles swears he actually sounds scandalized.  “God. All right. I know things got… a little intense back at the theater, but—”

“Oh my god, what?” Stiles panics internally. “Are you leading into some kind of speech about why we should slow down and back off, because _uncool_ , dude. You’re the one who kissed _me!”_

“I know,” Derek says quietly. He’s looking down at his hands, twisted together on his lap, and Stiles gets irrationally furious about the gorgeous sweep of his stupid long eyelashes. 

“And not just kissed, either,” Stiles continues. “That was like, a full-on frontal assault. I don’t even know the _verb_ for what that was. Mauling? Ravishing?”

“Oh come on, there was no _ravishing!_ ” Derek insists, grabbing nervously at the back of his own neck. “And I’m sorry, I know I got carried away.” He shrugs with clearly-exaggerated disinterest, which is how Stiles knows the next thing he says is going to be important. “It’s been a very long time. Since I’ve just… touched. Because I wanted to. And you…” 

“And me?” Stiles should be letting Derek off the hook, since he’s clearly _uncomfortable as fuck,_ but he can never resist pressing when he senses an advantage. “So you wanna touch me, right?”

“I just—we should take it easy,” Derek says, and his voice actually sounds _breathy_ , holy fuck. “Maybe avoid being… physical. Until you turn eighteen. At least.”

“Okay, but. Fuck that.” Stiles makes Derek look him in the eye, guiding him with a gentle but bossy hand on his jaw. “I know you’re the one who would get in trouble, and I don’t want that, even though to be perfectly honest I’m finding it really difficult to care right now—”

“Me too,” Derek says, averting his eyes, and Stiles can’t believe he didn’t notice before how _nervous_ Derek is about all of this. 

“Okay, well, that’s good,” Stiles says, and oh god, he just wants to grab Derek’s hands and slide them up under his own shirt to feel them against his skin, this is _ridiculous_. “So, compromise. It would hardly be humane or logical to expect me to stop kissing you, now that I’ve already done it, so I do not accept those terms.”

“Fair point,” Derek sighs, and it sounds like surrender. Stiles grins victoriously, sliding his hand around to rest at the base of Derek’s throat, feeling the tiny noise Derek makes as a vibration against his palm. “Just kissing, for now.”

“Not just kissing— _mauling_ ,” Stiles corrects. “And feel free to shred my seats up, by the way, I’m sure it will be worth it.”

“Fuck,” Derek says, succinctly, and he leans forward so swiftly that he gets snagged back by the seatbelt he forgot to unbuckle. 

“Oh my god, smooth.” Stiles falls back against his seat, laughing helplessly. “How do you convince everyone you’re so cool? You’re such a _nerd_.”

Derek shoves the seatbelt away and narrows his eyes. “How far back does your seat go?”

“What, why?” Stiles unhooks his own belt and pulls his blazer off, watching Derek’s arms straining against his t-shirt as he takes off his jacket. “It doesn’t go back any further than this.”

“Fine,” Derek says, and then all at once he’s _on_ Stiles, holding him back against the seat while he squeezes his body in front of the steering wheel. He ends up basically on Stiles’ lap, one knee braced between Stiles’ thighs and the other balancing next to the gear shift. “Can you still breathe,” he asks, dragging his lips behind Stiles’ ear while he lets his weight settle more firmly against him. “Am I too heavy? Is this too close?”

“Yes,” Stiles groans, closing his hands on Derek’s hips and letting his head fall back. “I mean. _No.”_ He rolls his body, pressing himself against Derek hungrily. “My leg’s gonna go numb but I don’t care, I don’t care, _oh my god._ Come here.”

“I’m already—I can’t be closer than this,” Derek points out, brushing a few light, staccato kisses across Stiles’ mouth that do nothing to ease the urgent heat under his skin. “Mmph, good. Your cologne’s worn off. You smell amazing.”

“Oh wow.” Stiles jumps a little when Derek’s fingers brush the bare skin of his back, and he arches off the seat a little to give them more room. “Isn’t the steering wheel digging into your back?” he gasps, leaning up desperately for more of Derek’s lips and tongue and teeth.

“I don’t know. Probably.” Derek nips a spot high on Stiles’ neck, just below his hairline, and his teeth feel a little sharper than should strictly be natural.

“Fangs,” Stiles squeaks, fisting his hands in the sides of Derek’s shirt and trying valiantly to control his breathing. “Is it… are you—”

“Sorry, sorry.” Stiles feels the fangs pull back from his skin, and he tries not to make a disappointed noise. “I can control them. I just… forgot to. For a second.”

“Is it safe?” Stiles realizes he’s ignoring every safe sex lecture he’s ever gotten by asking for this, but he’s not going to let that stop him. “I mean, if you wolf out? Just a little bit? Is it possible to turn me accidentally?”

“I—Stiles.” Derek pulls back as far as he can and gives Stiles an admonishing look.

“But it feels good, right?” Stiles presses, running a hand up Derek’s chest so he can feel his heart start to pound a little faster. “When you let go? You can do it, a little bit. Just don’t put your fangs in me and we’ll be fine.”

“You’ve really got to stop being so reckless,” Derek says, but—

“ _Awesome_ ,” Stiles breathes, reaching up to rub the pointed tips of Derek’s wolf-ears between his fingers and laughing throatily when Derek makes a blissful purring sound. “Wow, _really?_ ” 

“Shut up,” Derek says, his wolfy ears turning red. Stiles snorts affectionately and wraps both arms tight around Derek’s neck, pulling him in and kissing him as deep as he can. “Nn, _yeah_ ,” he murmurs as Derek slides a hand under his thigh and hoists him up a little, “This is getting… _dangerously_ close to not just being kissing, Derek.” 

“Can’t _help it.”_ Derek whimpers a little against Stiles’ throat as he pulls their bodies together again. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Oh yeah, this is really terrible,” Stiles chuckles. He’s feeling fantastic and smug and powerful, which is probably how he gets up the courage to slide his hands right into the back of Derek’s pants, groaning when he gets to skin. “Did you _not wear underwear?_ ” 

“It’s… restrictive,” Derek pants, and Stiles throws his head back and laughs while he hauls Derek down against his thigh.

“God, I’m so crazy about you,” Stiles tells him, warm and too-honest in his happiness, and suddenly Derek’s hands shoot up to grip the back of the seat and his body trembles hard in Stiles’ arms.

“Oh, damn—” Derek goes limp, letting his forehead drop to Stiles’ shoulder. “I didn’t—sorry.”

“Wait, what—” Stiles shifts, and then realizes that he can feel a dampening spot, high on his thigh. “Derek. Did you just _come?_ ”

“Can we just never mention this again?” Derek says against his neck. “I told you. It’s been a while.”

“Oh.” Stiles runs one of his hands up Derek’s back and into his hair. “So I don’t get credit for it?”

“Of course you do,” Derek sighs grumpily, and Stiles pulls his head back by the hair so he can kiss him.

“Thank god. It was insanely hot, by the way, don’t worry. I’m not judging you even a little bit for coming in your pants like a teenager.”

“How generous,” Derek says wryly, but he’s smiling at Stiles like he’s already forgotten about his embarrassment. “Do you want—”

“Shit, it’s 10:50!” Stiles pushes at Derek’s chest. “I’m sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am, but you have to get off of me now so I can drive.”

“Call me,” Derek says once he’s climbed off of Stiles, sounding _shy_ again, even though his come is still cooling on Stiles’ favorite jeans. “If you want to go out again, I mean.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Stiles kisses him one more time, deep and dirty, and then pushes him out of the passenger side. “Thanks. I had a great time. Sorry you have to run home in wet jeans.”

“No you’re not,” Derek says, and his eyes are wicked as he shuts the door. 

***

“Just in time,” Stiles' dad says from the couch as Stiles lunges through the door at 10:59. “Oh, for the love of God. Stiles, you look like you rubbed your face on a belt sander.”

“Oh?” Stiles sidles off toward the stairs, holding his hoodie carefully in front of his pants to hide the wet spot. “I’d look at lot worse, if you hadn’t scared Derek into being a _complete gentleman_ , thanks a lot, Dad.”

“You’re welcome,” his dad says, going back to his book.

“I’m supposed to be enjoying my youth with reckless abandon,” Stiles yells at him as he goes up the stairs, “and you are ruining it.”

“Don’t forget to floss, James Dean,” his dad calls back, sounding extremely smug.

Stiles strips down to his boxers and hops into bed, pulling his phone out of his pocket before tossing his jeans across the room.

_I kind of love your werewolf ears,_ he texts to Derek, and then jumps when his phone pings a reply less than a minute later.

_You’re not normal,_ Derek says, and he’s attached a blurry over-exposed picture of himself, still in the woods, half wolfed-out and aiming a long-suffering yet undeniably affectionate look at the camera. 

_Thanks, gonna use that to jerk off,_ Stiles sends back, and laughs happily when his phone immediately starts to ring.   



End file.
